


The Light In Me Will Guide You Home

by CupidStrikes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dadrigue rights, M/M, brush your teeth after reading, dimidue if you squint, marriage proposals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:20:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28193865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupidStrikes/pseuds/CupidStrikes
Summary: Sylvain returns to the Fraldarius homeWritten for the Sylvix Secret Santa Exchange!
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 54
Collections: Sylvix Gift Exchange 2020





	The Light In Me Will Guide You Home

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt 'Sylvix asking for Rodrigue's blessing'. Sylvain and Rodrigue deserved at least one support :(

Sylvain has visited the Fraldarius estate often enough that it’s almost like a second home. Or third, technically, as he’s spending more and more time in Fhirdiad these days helping Dimitri navigate his position as king of the newly united Fodlan. It’s been months since he was last in Gautier, and longer still since he had seen the crest-adorned gates surrounding the Fraldarius home. Sometime during the war, perhaps, had been the last time, he thinks. Back when nights upon nights blended into one long moment of Rodrigue, Felix, and himself pouring over maps and documents and ever scarcer reports of a rogue knight in black armour leaving a path of Empire corpses in his wake…

This time, at least, he’s not just returning bearing updates and treaties and trade plans (though he has those in abundance), but a more personal,  _ pressing  _ issue.

He had told himself, years feeling like an entire life ago, that when they graduated, he would ask, but then Edelgard and her army had meant any effort was spent protecting the Kingdom and its people and searching for their lost king. Sylvain had spent months at a time not even knowing whether Felix were even still alive.

Sylvain had told himself then - after the war. But this had brought its own deluge of problems.

Peace, it seemed, was more complicated than war.

Five years of unrelenting battle had all but destroyed many of the out-lying towns between Fhirdiad and Adrestia, and much of what still stood was damaged, crops ruined and entire herds of livestock lost or sickly. Much of Dimitri’s time, along with Byleth and Mercedes, was dedicated to fostering new relationships between the old nations and laying the foundation for the United Fodlan. With his father’s ever-increasing letters and potential matches and increasingly less subtle demands for an heir, well, Sylvain had been all too eager to accept to travel around the former Alliance territories to extend Dimitri’s eyes and ears to the needs of his people.

He would ask for Felix’s hand once the task was done and he could return without obligations.

But as the days had bled into weeks had bled into years with barely any let up...Sylvain had gradually come to the conclusion that any time was better than never, coincidentally around the same time he had been digging a rogue bandit arrow out of his shoulder in the middle of some forest near the Leicester border.

At the next town he had had the holes in his armour patched, commissioned a jeweller, and sent word to Dimitri to expect him back in Fhirdiad the following moon instead. The next morning, he had saddled up his horse and turned her towards Fraldarius.

The guards call out his arrival and Sylvain doesn’t even need to slow his horse before the gates are being pulled open. A stablehand meets him a shortways in, bowing smartly when Sylvain waves him off. They’re long-used to Margrave Gautier’s preference for putting his horse away himself, and today more than ever he needs the comfort of the repetitive motions. 

Sylvain is still brushing the tangles out of his horse’s mane when a whisper of fabric at the stable door alerts him that he’s not alone.

“You’re late,” Felix folds his arms over his chest as he watches Sylvain from the doorway. His hair is longer than when Sylvain last saw him, the shadows under his eyes a little deeper.

“Maybe you’re just early?” Sylvain counters, setting the brush down and coming out of the stall until he and Felix are just inches apart.

“In my own home?” There’s a smile tugging at the corner of Felix’s mouth.

“Yep. Early.” Sylvain nods, closing the distance between them to seal his mouth over Felix’s, “I missed you,” He whispers against his lips, the weight of too many lonely nights bleeding into his voice as he pulls Felix against himself. Felix, gradually, relaxes from a hard line of tension into warm and alive and _ there  _ against Sylvain.

“I missed you too.” Felix replies, barely audible. “Welcome home.”

Sylvain’s arms tighten around Felix, his tongue frozen in his mouth as that word makes his heart thud against his ribcage with something he can’t quite put a name to.

Home.

He likes the sound of that.

Felix permits the hold for a few more minutes before pulling away. The feeling of warmth from his body evaporates quickly.

“We should go inside, my father will be glad to see you.”

Rodrigue. Right.

The little box weighs heavily in Sylvain’s pocket, but it is a burden he bears gladly as he follows Felix into the house.

  
  


***

Dinner is a surprisingly quiet affair, Rodrigue waving off any talk about trade or anything close to work (“Please, my boy, I spend enough of my waking hours discussing this”)in favour of more...personal ventures. 

Dimitri’s wellbeing (better, good, all things considered).

Sreng, and Sylvain’s quiet negotiations and peace offerings (slow but positive).

And -

“And…” Rodrigue smiles at Sylvain across the table, “There is a more private matter I wished to discuss with you, my boy, if you would permit it.”

To his left, Felix scoffs quietly and rolls his eyes, but doesn’t otherwise protest, as Sylvain feels the cold threads of uncertainty and fear begin to weave about his ribcage.

“A private matter, sir?”

Rorigue shakes his head. “No need to look so serious, come by my study after dinner.”

Sylvain doesn’t remember much of the rest of dinner, but by the way Felix elbows him once or twice, he’s sure his distraction doesn’t go unnoticed. If Rodrigue notices, he doesn’t comment, thankfully.

Afterwards, Felix gives Sylvain a firm push towards the door, grumbling about getting it over with so he doesn’t ‘mope around all evening’ and steadfastly ignoring Sylvain’s protests that he doesn’t  _ mope _ he sulks and there is a distinct difference.

***

Sylvain has only been in Rodrigue’s study a handful of times. Once or twice as a child, when the desk and wing-backed chair behind it seemed unfathomably large. He vastly preferred the squishy chair by the fireplace, the one which had been large enough to hold the four of them and Rodrigue and Rodrigue’s book of knightly stories. Once as a pre-teen with Glenn, just days before Glenn and Dimitri’s father would ride off and never come home. 

The last time he had been here, had been a scant few months before they had been sent to the Officer’s Academy. He had stayed in Fraldarius for the summer after Rodrigue had invited him to squire. “My own son has no interest in squiring for his old man,” he had joked in his letters, and when Sylvain had arrived, he had enveloped him in the kind of warm, tight embrace Sylvain couldn’t recall ever feeling from his own father.

Sylvain thinks about that last one a lot.

Now he’s stood here again, clutching the good luck charm Bernadetta had pressed into his hands before he had left (“Not that you’ll need it of course!” She had chirped, “But just so you know we’re thinking of you!” Behind her, Seteth had given Sylvain an altogether rather disquietingly kind nod). He doesn’t even recall telling Bernadetta his plans, hadn’t even seen her in months to mention it in passing, but clearly someone (either Seteth, or Flayn by way of Seteth, he would wager) had brought it up.

Sylvain hesitates, hand hovering above the polished wood before he knocks. Once. Twice. He hopes it’s loud enough. That he’s enough. 

Sylvain knows objectively that he’s a good catch. He’s known since he had been old enough to walk. Bearer of the Crest of Gautier, wielder of the Lance of Ruin, and heir to the Gautier lands and estate. Advisor and trusted friend of King Dimitri, and decorated war hero. Felix can match all of those things and surpass them in most cases, though, and Sylvain knows his personal achievements and talents are more lacking. He wonders, still, as he often has, how he was ever lucky enough to gain Felix’s attention and favour, and more, how he has managed to keep it all this time.

He also knows that Rodrigue doesn’t care for any of these things, and would measure his worth by how happy he makes Felix, and how much he cares for Felix’s wellbeing.

He just hopes it’s enough.

“Come in.”

The door seems just as heavy now as it did when Sylvain had been a child. 

Inside, Rodrigue is stood by the window. The snow fall has become heavier, and, absently, Sylvain thinks his departure might be delayed some until the weather improves. 

“Sir.” Back to the matter at hand-

“Please, Sylvain, you may call me by my name,” Rodrigue is smiling when he turns away from the window to face him. “You have more than earned the right to.”

“But I-”

“Or perhaps…’father’?” Rodrigue’s tone is wistful, and Goddess knows he wouldn’t ever joke about this, but that…

It seems forbidden, almost. Like it’s more than he deserves, and a small, petulant part of Sylvain still bristles childishly at the hope swelling in his chest because he shouldn’t feel like this. Wouldn’t, if his own father had seen him as a person more than just an heir and the continuation of their legacy.

Across the room, Rodrigue takes Sylvain’s silence as a rejection, and the slight downward press of his mouth is what finally spurs Sylvain’s tongue into motion.

“I-” he begins haltingly, “I want to, really, but I…”

“Don’t know if you deserve to?” Rodrigue finishes for him, smiling gently as he steps away from the window and crosses the room to put his hands firmly on Sylvain’s shoulders.

“Sylvain, I have always considered you part of my family,” he tells him, “even if you have yet to make an honest man of my son,” he adds, voice light and teasing.

Sylvain swallows, wetting his lips slowly.

“Uh, about that.”

He looks up and Rodrigue beams.

“Yes, Sylvain?”

Sylvain clears his throat and steps back, out of Rodrigue’s hold. He straightens up and squares his shoulders, breathing in slowly.

“Lord Rodrigue. Rodrigue. I would like to humbly ask for Felix’s hand in marriage.” He begins, voice wavering at first but holding out as he continues, “As the sole heir to Gautier, bearing his crest, I can offer the lands of Gautier a-and a possible trade route with Sreng. We still hold some fortune despite what was given to help the war effort and peacekeeping afterwards. I have various decorations from the war, and hold a position within the King’s court as an advisor and trusted friend. I...would like to unify our lands, if that is acceptable, and would gladly take your name. Although we cannot bear our own heir together, I would not obstruct the continuation of your bloodline, sir.”

Rodrigue nods, smiling wider as Sylvain continues.

“How long have you been rehearsing that?” He asks, though not unkindly.

“Well-”

Rodrigue chuckles softly and draws Sylvain into a tight hug, the pressure around Sylvain’s chest forcing his erratic heartbeat to slow.

“As I said, I have always considered you like a son to me, Sylvain, and I would be overjoyed to make it official, as I know Felix would be too. I’m sure you know, but I promise my son isn’t nearly as opposed to the idea of marriage as he insists...where it concerns you,anyway,”

He presses a kiss to the crown of Sylvain’s head.

“You have my blessing, of course, and I give it gladly. These last few years have weighed upon us all terribly, but I have seen how you have been a light for Felix in these dark times, and I’m quite sure you are the only reason that my son isn’t out wandering the wilderness as a blade for hire right now.”

This close, Sylvain can see how deep the worry lines Rodrigue’s face, and the silver streaking through his once-dark hair. 

“I have made a great many mistakes, my boy, and far too many of them where Felix was concerned. I think it’s no exaggeration to say that I owe much of my current relationship with him to you, and as such...I owe you a debt I can never hope to repay,” 

Sylvain opens his mouth to protest but closes it again when Rodridgue shakes his head.

“Please, do not underestimate your worth, to both of us. We are both terribly fond of you, and I hope that this will signal the end of your long absences. Perhaps it is selfish, but I know it’s only a matter of time before Felix will wander off to find you. You have both more than earned some peace for yourselves, too,”

Rodrigue’s arms tighten and Sylvain lets himself lean into the embrace, his head on Rodrigue’s shoulder, so close that he can feel the steady thump of Rodrigue’s heartbeat.

“I’ll...keep that in mind.” Sylvain replies, “It would be good to be here. To be home.” He hesitates, “...Father.”

He feels Rodrigue smile, and the slight tensing of his posture.

“You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that.” Rodrigue replies, the raw, vulnerable edge of emotion audible in his voice despite how it’s muffled into Sylvain’s cloak.

“I have some idea,” Sylvain admits, giving Rodrigue a gentle squeeze, “I’m sorry it took so long.”

Rodrigue softly snorts in amusement.

“No, I think it took precisely the right amount of time.” He replies, and then slowly steps back, looking Sylvain over briefly. “You should go and tell Felix the good news, although, I think he’s still quite oblivious to your intentions.” 

A small smirk tugs at his lips.

“You may yet surprise him.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing,” Sylvain admits, rubbing the back of his neck, “Surprised Felix can be….stabby.”

Rodrigue does laugh then.

“I’m quite sure that you’re safe, as he as yet to run you through.”

Sylvain smiles and glances back at the door, “I should go.”

“You should, and may the Goddess go with you, though I am sure you don’t need it,” Rodrigue winks, “Good night, my son.”

“Good night...father,” Sylvain smiles, the word feeling strange but oddly warm in his mouth. He steps back out into the corridor, and as the door slides closed behind him he’s left alone with his thoughts again. He reaches into his pocket to trace the wood of the small box. 

Still there. Good.

He heads the short distance from Rodrigue’s study to Felix’s bedchambers, pausing briefly as he passes the paintings of the Fraldarius family, from Kiphon, all the way down to the most recent portraits of Felix and Rodrigue (Felix in adulthood, wearing his wartime regalia, finally replacing the one of Felix as a toddler, painted just days after the incident with Glenn’s sword which had resulted in a rather unflattering bowl cut…). The paintings have been rearranged, and there is a space beside the most recent painting, one from after the war with Felix and Rodrigue stood beside a newly crowned Dimitri, Dedue at the new king’s side, and Sylvain wonders if Rodrigue had done this on purpose

Back in Gautier, there is a similar space waiting, for what Sylvain hopes is his wedding portrait.

“Why are you staring at those when the real thing is right here?”

Felix’s voice cuts through the fog of thought and Sylvain starts at the interruption.

“Huh?” He replies, elegantly.

Felix rolls his eyes as he approaches, reaching to grasp Sylvain’s hand and tug him into motion, leading him back to his room.

“It’s cold out here. Do you intend to freeze here, instead of some goddess-forsaken forest?”

Sylvain smiles despite the scolding, and he drags a protesting Felix close.

“Actually, I was thinking.”

“You do that?” Felix asks into Sylvain’s chest.

“Yes of course,” Sylvain replies, blithely stroking his fingers into Felix’s hair. He slides the tie out, Felix’s hair falling around his shoulders with only a small protest. “I have something I want to ask you.”

Felix draws back a little to look up at Sylvain, expression carefully guarded.

“Well, go ahead then.” He prompts after a beat, “Out with it.”

Sylvain pulls away, wiping his damp palms on his tunic before fumbling one into his pocket as his blood roars in his ears. The room around them zeroes down to just him and Felix and the metre between them.

“Felix.” Sylvain rasps. Wets his lips. Tries again. “Felix.” Stronger this time.

“Yes?” Felix’s hands are held tightly at his sides, clenching tightly around nothing (and Sylvain is suddenly intensely grateful that his sword is on the other side of the room).

“Felix Hugo Fraldarius. Will you -” Sylvain starts to go down onto one knee when Felix makes a soft noise of panic. Sylvain looks up at him and smiles, reaches for one of his hands and carefully uncurls his fingers until he can slide his own into the spaces between.

“It’s okay.” Sylvain smiles and kisses each of Felix’s knuckles in turn. “If you don’t want to-”

Felix’s expression twists and for a second Sylvain thinks he really might punch him.

“You arse.” Felix finally gets out, disbelief winning you over the anger, “You...fool! How could you possibly think I-” he huffs and grasps the front of Sylvain’s shirt with his free hand. 

“Keep going,” Felix grumbles after a few seconds, a blush rising in his cheeks that has nothing to do with the fire in the hearth.

Emboldened, Sylvain grins and continues, holding Felix’s hands in his.

“Felix Hugo Fraldarius. I could give you some romantic spiel about how you’re my moon and stars, the light of my life, which you are but I don’t think you’d like that much. But...we made a promise as children, in this very room, and I intend to honour it. I intend to honour it and more, I want to promise not only not to die before you, but to live with you until that day and live happily. It isn’t an exaggeration that the thought of coming home to you kept me through the worst nights, and I can only hope I’m able to do the same for you. The last few years have taught me more than ever that there is no one else, and can never be anyone else than you, Felix. You make me a better man, and I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life at your side, hopefully making you the happiest man in all Fodlan.”

Sylvain pauses. Swallows. Can already feel moisture heavy in his eyes.

“Felix, ah,” Sylvain curses as the first rogue tear spills free down his cheek.

Felix kneels down in front of Sylvain and Sylvain bites the inside of his cheek hard as the other man hugs him tight.

“Yes,” Felix whispers against his skin. “Yes, every time. Was there ever any doubt?” 

Felix’s voice is ragged in a way that Sylvain hasn’t heard in years but instantly knows. He tries to pull back but Felix holds him in place.

“Yes, you idiot, I do, I’ll marry you.”

Sylvain gives up any hope of stemming the waterworks, and lets himself cry in earnest into the hollow of Felix’s neck. If he feels any moisture against his own clothing, he doesn’t mention it.

They stay like that for some time - long enough that Sylvain’s knees protest when they finally get up and Felix grouses about him being an ‘old man’. They make it as far as one of the comfortable chairs in front of the fire, neither willing to let the other go long enough to undress properly for bed, and emotion still running too strong in both of them to be relaxing. There Sylvain finally gets the box out (without dropping it), to show Felix the ring inside. It’s a slim silver band, set with tiny diamonds and sapphires.

“The jeweller said it wouldn’t interfere with your sword work.” Sylvain is saying when Felix wordlessly holds his hand out.

“It’s….perfect.” Felix finally settles on, frowning at the inadequacy of the word. “I love it, truly,” and when he leans up Sylvain meets him halfway for the kiss.

“I presume you already got my father’s blessing?” Felix asks after a while. At Sylvain’s nod he smiles and tucks himself closer against him, Sylvain’s chin resting on the top of his head, “We should send letter to the boar tomorrow. I might finally get some peace now.”

Sylvain grins beside him.

“I can’t wait to tell Mercie and Annie. You know they’ll want to plan and make the cake and decorate the hall, and Ingrid will coordinate some pegasi, and-.” At Felix’s groan, he relents, “Or, we could just, y’know, ask Byleth for a favour. Dima and Dedue and Rodrigue, and then just us, a wyvern and all of Fodlan…

“Are you suggesting we elope?” Felix raises an eyebrow.

“I hear Alymra is nice this time of year. Not too hot.”

“It would be pleasant to see Claude again.” Felix agrees slowly.

“We can have a party when we get back. I want a first dance. You were so good at the White Heron Cu-” Felix’s hand covers Sylvain’s mouth.

“Not another word about that.” He warns, waiting fo Sylvain to nod before he removes his hand. “...But you can have your dance whenever you want.”

Sylvain kisses Felix’s palm before he removes it.

“How about now?”

Felix looks up at him with a frown, gauging how serious he is, then sighs and shrugs as he gets up.

“Why not.”

Sylvain takes Felix’s hand and wraps an arm around his waist.

“I love you,” He tells him, thumb tracing the ring on Felix’s finger.

“Love you too.”


End file.
